


a simple answer

by batboycentral



Series: the way you ache [4]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DC Extended Universe
Genre: Bad Parents Jack and Janet Drake, Child Abandonment, Child Abuse, Emotional neglect, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gaslighting, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Tim Drake Needs a Hug, Tim Drake Whump, the two clerks are lesbians and what about it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 04:29:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24048985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/batboycentral/pseuds/batboycentral
Summary: janet and jack had never planned on having children. given the opportunity, they'd ditch him in a heartbeat.oh, wait.
Relationships: Jack Drake & Janet Drake & Tim Drake, Jack Drake/Janet Drake
Series: the way you ache [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1679827
Comments: 19
Kudos: 411





	a simple answer

**Author's Note:**

> dead dove do not eat they really suck in this one

It was very clear that neither Jack nor Janet Drake had ever picked up a book on parenting, nor had they ever intended to. The idea of having a child, one they would cherish and take care of, one they could love and nurture, had not even occurred to them until Janet’s second trimester of pregnancy. Janet and Jack were often good together--they clicked, one tidal wave moving in sync, their neat, carefully constructed fantasies aligning to form a barrier around them--it was them against the world.

Early on, they went on Hollywood-worthy dates, wild and carefree young adults with too much money finding joy where they could. Expensive restaurants, fast cars, and glittering outfits perfectly matched one another--Janet and Jack were the main characters in a masterpiece romantic film. They would travel, often on impulse, to anywhere in the world they desired, finding jobs that allowed them to be this free-spirited and in love.

Obviously, their story had never involved  _ domesticity _ . Settling down was a burden, antithetical to everything they had built for themselves and their relationship. Being pregnant meant pausing the wonderful dream the Drakes had enjoyed thus far. Janet had insisted they correct course immediately, but Jack hesitated, and for a moment the immaculate motion picture they envisioned came to a halt. 

What made them keep the baby was the sudden realization that this was not the end of the love story; each day, more and more Janet’s head became filled with chimerical ideas of family and children--and Jack agreed. They would decorate the nursery just like  _ this _ , the baby would have little shoes just like  _ that _ , they would name it Nora after Janet’s mother or Timothy after Jack’s father. Their waves moved along. It was picture perfect once again--

Until they actually  _ had _ the baby. 

Much like a child given a puppy as a present, they became quickly disenchanted with their child. As it turns out, having a baby is much more than the cute moments in the movies. The Drakes learned this the hard way, their formerly perfect dream lives disrupted by the baby’s constant  _ presence _ \--they had underestimated how  _ needy _ a baby was, how often it reminded you that it was  _ there _ . The only relief they seemed to get came in the form of nannies and babysitters, shifting the burden onto someone else while Janet and Jack took refuge in their work. They did not remain gone for long, the guilt of leaving their child behind eventually creeping upon them each time they left. 

Even worse, Janet and Jack found themselves disappointed in the result. Timothy was small and shy, clingy and  _ curious _ , always asking a million questions about anything and everything until they felt close to internal combustion. He was not a soft, growing-like-a-weed little thing, not interested in things little boys are  _ supposed _ to like--Tim did not care about dirt or monster trucks or action figures. He was studious and nosy and it frustrated Janet so much it almost  _ bothered  _ her-- almost.

Jack and Janet would never admit it, but they were avoiding their child. Some part of them felt a connection, felt bad for the kid they left behind. They were still trying to love him, still wanting to use him for his intended purpose. They came back to town for an entire week in the wintertime; Tim had turned four that summer. They had been advised to spend some good family time together and had planned an entire day for just the three of them--they would go to the circus, then dinner, then play board games until Tim was too tired.

It did not go as planned.

Instead of the wholesome family activity they had anticipated, the Drake family bore witness to a murder gruesome and cruel; two acrobats shot from the sky like ducks on a hunt, tumbling down and down as their son watched from atop the trapeze tower. They had been unable to avert their eyes, fixated on the splattered red and screams from the crowd, watching as the Batman suddenly appeared and whisked the young boy to safety. Their own child was crying, and Janet held him tight to her chest.

Needless to say, things did not get easier. They had intended to stick around longer this time--they felt  _ bad _ most of the time. Seeing two people shot mid-air had its own stress, and Jack could handle it with cigarettes, and Janet could handle it with a couple of glasses of wine, but Tim was four years old. He needed  _ them _ , was suddenly so dependent and vulnerable, and they had to put in mountains of effort just to get him to be  _ normal _ . Tim cried, never slept, was  _ quiet _ and  _ creepy _ , and when he did sleep he would often wake screaming from nightmares. Many nights, almost every night, in fact, Jack or Janet would wake up to hear their son’s wailing down the hall--they refused to let him sleep in their bed, especially not if he would thrash and cry and whimper all night. 

It began to wear on them. Janet became more and more irritable until she would snap at Jack, “You’re the one that wanted a baby!” and they would have a spat. They even broke down and took Tim to a child psychologist, supposedly one of the best in the country; it proved fruitless. Regardless of whatever therapy he may have given Tim in that one hour-long session, their son still woke them up at night.

  
  


Janet was at her wit’s end, but Jack had some ideas. Perhaps if they showed Tim that they care then he would stop all the fuss. They carved a few days out of their schedule that spring to try anew at ‘family time’. They decided to take him to Gotham Wild Ride, an amusement park to the north of Gotham proper. It was heaven for a child, full of bright lights and thrilling rollercoasters--they expected him to be energetic and rambunctious, but instead looked nearly somber. They were sure Tim was enjoying spending this time with them, though. He was tense and nervous among the crowds, but when she and Jack held his hands tight he seemed to relax despite his silence. 

Which is why neither of his parents noticed when he paused to look at something without them. Another child had a mask on to look like the Batman, and Tim suddenly could not move, neither enraptured nor terrified, captivated by the memory, screams of excited children shifting into the roaring shrieks of onlookers as the flying Graysons plummeted to the ground. He could not breathe, something tight seizing him by the ribcage so strongly that his knees buckled and when Tim finally became aware of his surroundings again he was sitting on the concrete, alone. 

The sun beat down on him, and he took a little breath, testing the water to see if he would be choked--Tim dared to look again, but the Batman--bat-child?--was gone. He had disappeared into the vast sea of people; he looked behind him, and all around. His parents were gone. They must have left him behind. Tim tried to swallow further panic.  _ They are not dead, _ he told himself.  _ They’re just lost. You’re overreacting. _

He racked his brain for what to do--he could not just  _ ask _ someone, that was stranger danger. You will not be getting Tim Drake to a secondary location. First things first: get a park map. Tim scrambled up off of the ground and towards the large directory a few feet away. There was a large map and he quickly identified the red star that showed where he was. Tim craned his neck and stood on his tiptoes--he knew how to read, of course, but was too short to see everything properly. 

The main office seemed to be a little ways north from the nearest coaster. Tim’s legs trembled as he gathered up the necessary strength to enter the flow of people. It reminded him too much of the circus, of that fleeting moment of happiness he had had when hugging Dick Grayson, a moment now tarnished by the inescapable memory of what came next. Tim felt like he was eating ants, like he was something awful and dirty, and his lip wobbled. He did not want to cry. He had done enough of that, to the point that he saw it in his parents’ faces when they looked at him--they were sick of it, even if they would not say it to his face. It was hard not to, though. He kept walking.

Taking a deep breath, he approached the information office. It was not much an office as it was a large kiosk, with a few clerks inside answering questions at the glass windows. He realized he would have to get creative with how he asked for help--they might not be able to even see him down here. Tim jumped as high as he could. No one seemed to notice. He jumped again, this time able to touch his little fingers to the countertop. Still, no one answered. Tim took in a sharp, shuddering breath. There was a patch of gravel nearby, and he picked up a small pebble and flung it at the window with all the force his wimpy little kid arms could manage.

Now that, the clerk saw, and said something that Tim did not hear. He waved madly to signal for help, and the clerk, looking annoyed, turned to their coworker before leaving the kiosk. The clerk was a teenage girl with a nose ring and box braids. She crouched down to talk to him, and Tim saw that her name tag read ‘Angelica’. 

“What can I do for you, kid?” Angelica asked, and Tim sniffled as he tried to collect his thoughts. 

“M-my parents,” he stuttered. “I lost them.” 

The disdain on her face melted away, something like sympathy taking its place. She patted Tim’s shoulder and he nearly shuddered at the warmth. “What’s your name?”

“Timothy Drake,” he said. “I last saw them near the Jaw.” The Jaws of Fury, affectionately nicknamed “The Jaw” by Gothamites, was one of the larger coasters in the park and was directly across from the Midway. 

“Hey, don’t worry. We’ll find them. I’ll take you into the office and we’ll page ‘em, okay?” Before Tim could say anything, Angelica picked him up like a baby and balanced him on her hip. It felt some way he could not quite articulate--Tim had once made smores with one of his nannies, and the sticky, warm, melted guts of that delicious monstrosity was the closest comparable thing he could think of. He clung to her. 

They headed into the kiosk. It felt bigger on the inside, Tim noticed. Angelica’s coworker was another teenager, a little bit older, with short hair dyed blue and a name tag that read ‘Chloe’. 

“Oh, we have a new employee?” the girl joked, and Angelica laughed, rolling her eyes. 

“This is Tim, and he lost his parents,” she says, rubbing his back. “It’s okay, sweetheart.”

Tim’s cheeks burned. His nanny would never have used such an affectionate term for him, especially out of nowhere. He wondered what he had done to be called  _ sweetheart _ . Tim had not thought his little pebble stunt was particularly genius in any way. Maybe Angelica was easily impressed? 

“Oh my God, he’s  _ so _ fucking cute, dude,” Chloe gushed, then put a hand over her mouth. “Oh shi--crap. I can’t swear, sorry.” She leaned in, addressing him directly. “How old are you, buddy?”

“I’m four,” Tim said, proud of the way he managed to say it without stuttering. The way the two girls smiled at him made him bury his face into Angelica’s neck. That only seemed to make them fawn over him more. 

The girls collected his parents’ names and made an announcement over the park’s P.A. system. Angelica sat Tim on the counter while they waited so they could keep an eye on him and help the other guests at the same time. He missed the hug, but figured he might get one from his parents after all of this was over. 

Thirty minutes passed, and Tim could not hold back his anxiety any longer. For sure, they must be dead, for there could be no other reason they would take this long to come get him. Angelica and Chloe seemed to sense his restlessness and made another announcement. 

“Attention Wild Riders! Can Janet and Jack Drake please report to the information booth? Your son Tim has been found. Janet and Jack Drake, please come to the information booth. Thank you!” The moment Chloe finished her cheery message Tim buried his face in his hands. He did not want to look  _ ungrateful _ but--but he was  _ scared _ that by some unholy act of fate his parents had been thrown off of the top of the Jaw, that this was his punishment for witnessing the Graysons fall, for seeing something he should not have, and for daring to weep for parents that were not his. 

After another hour passed, Angelica got on the phone with Information to possibly find his parents’ cell phone numbers. Tim had to watch as she went in circles between operators and secretaries at Drake Industries. Chloe began to chat with him, asking simple, unintrusive questions like his day or his favorite cartoon. The idle chatter turned into 20 Questions--a game Tim had never played but took up incredibly quickly. He stumped the two of them countless times with clever wording, and they never tired of it, never became annoyed or frustrated with him, or told him to shut up. Guilt sank in his stomach when he realized that he was having fun.

They got the numbers they needed after a total of three hours had passed. Tim held his breath as Angelica dialed, each second tearing up his lungs a little more until--

Until they did not answer, the beep sounded, and Angelica began to leave a voicemail. 

“It’s okay,” Tim said. “They get busy. Their phones might be off,” he explained to Chloe, who just gave him a sad, unreadable look and asked if he wanted a snack. 

He said no. 

There were no police coming to the park to stop or report a crime, no paramedics rushing in to rescue anyone who may have been stuck in The Jaw or any other particularly tall rollercoaster. No evidence of his parents even being here--security had combed the park and reported them absent from the premises. Angelica and Chloe took turns calling the Drakes over and over, effectively flooding their voicemail box.

Janet and Jack did not show up until six hours had passed. A tearful Janet alongside Jack and the park manager raced towards the information booth where Angelica waited outside. Chloe had gone home, as her shift had been over for an hour by then, but Angelica stayed. Janet nearly snatched Tim out of her arms, holding him fiercely, awkwardly, Tim allowing himself to sob openly into her neck.

The two parents babbled some lachrymose excuse for why it took them so long--they had thought he ran  _ away _ and had been  _ kidnapped  _ and they had been looking  _ everywhere _ and  _ It was just so awful _ ! The park manager apologized profusely, likely feeling lucky they were not about to be sued--the police never got involved. 

Tim felt so loved and warm, being hugged and worried over and even  _ cried _ over--up until they had thanked the employees one last time, returned to their car, and buckled their seat belts. Janet huffed, thankful for tinted windows, and wiped her tear tracks away neatly. They were both suddenly still, and a stony silence filled the air as Jack pulled out of the parking lot.

“Mama?” Tim sniffled. He only called her that when truly distressed.

Janet was not having any of it. She twisted in her seat to face him, makeup still inexplicably perfect despite the bitter expression she wore. “ _ Stop crying, Timothy _ ,” she hissed. “I have had it up to  _ here _ with you! Your behavior today was  _ unacceptable _ !” Janet’s voice escalated, stern, but not yelling, cold and sharp. 

“B-But-- I thought-- I thought---” Tim could not get his words out past his tears.

“It was a couple of hours,” she snapped. “Don’t be a baby.” With that she turned around, and they rode in silence the rest of the way home.

Once they were sure Tim was through crying, Jack tucked him into bed, and pat his head. Tim did not feel anything from it--he imagined his father like a robot and fleetingly wondered if Jack might really be operated with levers and buttons. 

Once the light had been shut off and his parents had retreated down the hall, Tim got out of bed, silently putting his ear to the bottom of his door. He could hear them talking from his room.

“Jesus,” Tim heard his dad say, “What a day.” Jack sounded tired, exasperated, the way he did when he spoke of annoying coworkers. “I seriously need a break, Jan. I went on Expedia and found business class seats to Paris tomorrow night,” he offered. Tim bit his lip. They were supposed to stay for another three days. 

“Seriously, Jack?” Came the voice of his mother, and Tim was at least a little relieved that his mom was on his side, until-- “We just saw two people get  _ murdered _ . At  _ least _ get first class! What am I, a joke to you?” 

Tim cracked his door open carefully, sticking just his head out to see his parents’ bedroom door open down the hall. His mother stood in her nightgown, holding a sultry glass of red wine, and when she put her eyes on him, Tim felt small. “I can’t sleep,” he said, and his voice sounded small, too.

“I thought I told you to go lay down,” Janet replies, cool and indifferent, and something twists in Tim’s stomach. They had not been lost or hurt, had they? They saw he was gone and jumped for joy, a happy coincidence that they finally managed to ditch him. He felt dirty and stupid that he had not realized it before, that he had not gotten the hint when they traveled eight months out of the year that perhaps they really had never intended on picking up a book on parenting. 

And yet there was nothing tragic that broke inside of him, no overwhelming moment of tears and emotion, simply a revelation of something he had known for a long time. Tim accepted this as the truth--he whispered an apology to his mother, went back inside his room, and shut the door. He did not cry; the house was quiet, and it stayed that way. 

**Author's Note:**

> HUGE thank you to dottie_wan_kenobi, sElkieNight60 and Gemini_Baby for beta reading this for me!!!!


End file.
